


Police Politics

by miss_nettles_wife



Category: The Doctor Blake Mysteries
Genre: Beating, Blood, Gen, Recovery, crippling, police abuse, police politics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-12
Updated: 2015-06-16
Packaged: 2018-04-04 02:14:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4122253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miss_nettles_wife/pseuds/miss_nettles_wife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Says that you've got loyal friends, and that that's your weakness.”<br/>“That sounds like a threat.”<br/>“And I'm included.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yep. another fanfic so soon. This one's gonna have two parts to it. And this part is largely focused on Charlie getting beat the hell up. (anyone else noticing a pattern????)

“Says that you've got loyal friends, and that that's your weakness.”  
“That sounds like a threat.”  
“And I'm included.”

…

Since Lawson's return, not too much had changed at the station. Munro was still trying to force Blake out, Blake was still upset with him, Lawson still treated him like a subordinate, but maybe that was all for the better.  
He just wanted things to go back to the way they had been.  
He wanted to go back to Melbourne, he wanted so very badly to take Munro up on the bonehead offer, but he'd chosen to side with Blake. Like he knew he always would. A far as he could tell, he was now in this, regardless of if he wanted to be or not.

Lawson's new desk was the one opposite his. Previously, he'd just used Boss and Sir interchangeably when talking with Lawson. It had always been the way he did it. Lawson didn't seem to be too fussed with proper procedure and such, so neither was he. But Lawson wasn't really his boss anymore. Even so, it felt strange to call him something other then Boss or Sir. He wasn't really sure what to call him anymore. Even in their many phone discussions since he'd left, he's always called him Boss. And even when he knew he'd been demoted (he was the first, and under strict instruction not to tell Blake)

He was shaken from his thoughts by a brown paper bag hitting the table in front of his unbecomingly. Armed with a similar bag, Lawson dropped down into the chair across from him. He always looked so tired these days, even his posture looked more tired. He can't recall Lawson standing straight since he got back and it hurts him because he just wants things to be the way that they were. 1959 was shaping up to be a very interesting year. “Lunch.” Lawson said, taking a bite from his own sausage roll.   
“I brought a sandwich...But thanks.” Charlie said, and rifled around in his pocket for three quid to pay Lawson keep it back.  
“Keep it. Put it towards your rent.”  
“Don't talk with your mouthful.” Charlie said, producing a sandwich wrapped in wax paper from his work bag.  
“What's on it?”  
“Honestly? I have no idea. Mrs Toohey made it. That woman gets here at about five O'clock in the morning.”  
“How would you know?”  
“I was awake. The Doc was yelling and having a fit at about fifteen to. “  
“Really?”  
“Mrs Toohey cleaned…Well I think it was meant to be cleaning, up his mother's studio. “ He said, before taking a bite out of the sandwich, going pale, and then spitting it into the bin next to his desk. He starred at the sandwich as if it were his worst enemy. “That is atrocious.” He said. Lawson picked up the other half of the sandwich, and took a bite. His reaction mirrored poor Charlie's.   
“That's awful he said.'  
“Can I have a bite?” Hobart asked, walking up. Charlie looked up at him.  
“Hobart I didn't throw you down the stairs this morning, don't make me regret that.” Hobart put his hands up in surrender, and walked up to his desk.   
“That was mean, Davis.”  
“Now I'm the same rank as him I can actually say mean things to him, it's beautiful.” Lawson shook his head, while, Charlie got to his feet.   
“Where on earth do you think you're going?”  
“To the hospital. I'm going to tell Mattie not to eat the sandwich.”  
“Why? I thought you two didn't get on?”  
“Well we don't...Sometimes, but I don't want someone to die because she was on roster for far too long, and didn't get lunch because it was gross and then she misread a morphine bottle and someone died.”  
“Pick a tense when you speak.”  
“Sorry!” He said, before quickly walking out the door. Hobart looked over at Lawson.   
“He has a crush on her.”  
“Clearly.” Hobart chuckled, and Lawson disposed of Charlie's awful sandwich.

Charlie was back in about an hour, and returned quietly to his desk. No one was around, so he quietly went back to typing out his notes from the crime scene. While Lawson didn't mind had written reports, Munro hated them, and called Charlie's handwriting 'feminine'. Charlie thought it was a load of crap, but put up with it. He pushed the top bar f the type writer across, it clicked, so he started to type again. He writes two more lines before Hobart walked up to his desk and stood in front of it. Charlie looked up at him with a light frown.   
“What do you want, Hobart?”  
“Charles Davis, you are to accompany me to the interview rooms on suspicion of disrupting the peace?” Charlie frowned deeply at him, “What? Over that sandwich? That's hardly a punishable offense, Hobart.”  
“Get up.” Charlie an eyebrow, but obeyed, and did get to his feet. He followed Hobart up the stairs to the interview room, and took a seat at the table. 

…

They sit in silence for at least ten minutes before Charlie speaks up “Are you charging me?” Neither say anything, they just stare at him. Charlie has started to sweat, and he looked uncomfortable. He's not stupid. He knows that they're using his own tactics against him. Sit still and stare at them while your partner does the talking. Except there is no partner. Just quiet and he can feel the perspiration on his forehead and Jesus Christ won't someone say something? Anything?

“Put your hands on the table.”

“What?” He asks, looking at Hobart with a confused expression.  
“Hands on the table, Davis.” Munro repeats. After a moment, Charlie puts both his hands on the table. Hobart gets to his feet. He goes to the back of the room and carries in a typewriter.  
“Davis.” Hobart said, and Charlie can feel what's about to happen, and he takes his hands off the table.   
“What the Hell!” He demanded, holding his hands up to his chest defensively.   
“Put them down.” Munro said.  
“No!” He said, looking shocked and disgusted. Munro got to his feet, as Charlie jumped to his and ran to the door, gripping the handle, but realizing that there was no way out. The door was locked, and the windows had been blacked out with some kind of cloth. He rattles the handle. Munro grabs him from behind, and throws him onto the ground. Charlie grunted and had the wind knocked out of him. Hobart sat on his chest, and Charlie struggled to take a breath through his bending and creaking ribcage. Hobart punched him in the face. Charlie cried out, trying his best to wiggle up, but to no avail. Hobart punched him again and he actually felt something in his face crack so he stops moving. Blood has begun to run out of his nose and down his cheeks, pooling under his head already. He thinks he probably has a concussion. Hobart stands, and hauls him up, and onto the chair. Munro sits back down, looking unruffled and unconcerned. He's dazed, and doesn't fight back when Hobart puts his hands up on the table again. Munro picks up the type writer, turns it over, and brings it down on Charlie's left hand over and over and over. Charlie has started to scream. Munro sets the type writer and looks at Charlie's mangled fingers for a moment, before nodding in satisfaction. Charlie didn't know how to react, so he just screamed.

Hobart left, briefly, while Charlie struggled to get his bearings back about himself. His hand aches so much that it felt white hot, like it was on fire. He had to keep looking away from it because he was so disgusted at the sight of his twisted and broken fingers. The bruises formed a dark colour, and they bled from where the type writer had cut them on it's sharp corners. He wants to cry. He wants to escape.  
“I told you, Charlie.” Munro said, from across the table, his dark eyes making a strong contact with Charlie's softer ones. “It would be a shame, if your doctor's friends were hurt, because of him.”  
“You're a monster.” Charlie replied. “Lawson will never let you get away with this.”  
“I've already got everything all set up to ensure that I will.” He heard a rustling of papers behind him, as Hobart hit him in the back of the head with a phone book. His head went forward and smacked into the table. It jostled his broken nose, and made him feel sick to his stomach. Munro gives a grim smile, as Hobart sets a hammer, as well as the phone book on the table in front of him.

…

After they finish with him, they drag him down to the cells. Hobart has to literally drag him because he cannot stand. A mixture of both a head injury and exhaustion. He notices how late it is as they drag him down there, surely someone is missing him by now? They have too, don't they? He realizes as they drop him onto the floor that he's collateral in all of this. Sure, people liked him well enough, but since Lawson got back, he wasn't as useful as he had been. Nothing to be gained from spending time with him. He wasn't useful like he used to be. And of course, ever since Blake accused him of stealing his mail, there'd been a shadow of good manners involved with everything they did. He's become useless and he knows it. He can feel it. So. Of course. No one is looking for him. It doesn't occur to him, that he's simply played himself into the trap that Munro had been baiting him with.

He struggles his way into a corner, and pulls his arm close to his chest. The finger are so mangled that he feels ill whenever he looks at them. They are swollen and purple and look more like sausages then his fingers. Sausages that exploded in the oven. He couldn't move them at all, and his mind flickered between 'look at what they did to you' and 'don't look and maybe it will fix itself' He'd never felt more out of it in his life, but he assumes that might also be because of his head injuries. As Hobart starts to leave, Charlie spat in his general direction, and it concerns him, that he's not concerned about tasting so much blood.

…

At the Blake residence, Lucien found himself starting to worry about Charlie's whereabouts. He hadn't come home for tea, like he'd assured him he would be, he hadn't called ahead, he didn't appear to have done anything. In fact, no one had seen him since lunch time, according to Lawson.  
“It's almost midnight.” Mattie said, as she shut her text book. “He should be home by now.”  
“Maybe he just got caught up?” Mrs Toohey offered. “Sometimes happens.”  
“At midnight? I know Munro works him hard but really?” Blake asked, and took a sip of his drink. “Something just feels off.”  
“Off?”  
“I can't explain it.” he sighed, and sat on the couch. Jean shook her head.   
“Well. I'm going home Charlie can tell us tomorrow where he was.” She said, before leaving the room swiftly. Blake sighed, and sat back on the sofa as Mattie packed away her books.  
…  
Charlie tries to watch the clock, but his eyes can't stay focused. He knows that it's probably the concussion but it doesn't help. Everything just aches. His reflection is distorted in the curved bowl of the toilet, but he can still make out that he hardly resembles himself. He doens't know the names for these injuries, but they all look serious. Maybe he'll die in here, of sepsis. It'll be a disgusting and painful death. Maybe the concussion will kill him? Can you die from concussion? How long has he been sitting here anyway? He's felt sick all night, and decided that it might just be better to sit here so when he was inevitably sick, it wasn't onto himself. That just sounded miserable. Much like he was. He didn't have the strength to really move, so he stayed still and quiet, waiting for a new wave of nausea to pass.

…

Before Blake can even see his first patient of the day, Lawson is at his house hammering frantically on the door.  
“Inspector Lawson!” Mrs Toohey scolded. Lawson seemed to have run all the way here from the station, apparently because he was out of breath and red faced. Blake emerged to see what all the commotion was about.   
“Blake….” he panted. “Munro has Charlie.”   
“What?” he demanded, grabbing his hat and coat from inside on the peg. “For what?”  
“Claiming that Mattie reported him for sexual harassment.”  
“MATTIE!” Blake called. Mattie wasn't dressed, but came out anyway.   
“Yes?” She asked, rubbing her face slightly.  
“Did you report Charlie yesterday for sexual harassment?”  
“No?' She offered, looking concerned.  
“Did you see him? “  
“Yeah. He came by the hospital, and gave me a sausage roll…He just seemed like he was concerned I wasn't eating enough when I was on at the hospital” She said,   
“Did he do anything that might prompt anyone to report him on your behalf? “ Lawson asked. Mattie shook her head no.  
“He seemed a little more friendly then usual, but other then that no.” Lawson nodded, and wiped his face, which had slowly started to return to the correct colour.  
“Bastard!” Lawson shouted, and kicked the wall next to the door. Blake blinked. Lawson having a bit of a temper was hardly news. But this was just a shock.  
“Matthew. What's happened to Charlie.”   
“Get your doctor's bag.” Blake's face paled, but he nodded.  
“Let me come too.” Mattie said,   
“No. I dragged Charlie into this, I won't drag you into it as well.” Lawson said, “Stay here.” Blake re emerged with his doctors bag.  
“We'll take my car.” He said. Lawson nodded, and the two of them were off.

…  
“Breakfast.” Hobart said, and dropped the tray on the floor in front of him. The plate bounces. The cup breaks.   
“Oh dear. That won't look good on the report.” Hobart said, as Charlie looked up at him with the one eye that seemed to have a full range of motion. Breakfast probably meant it was pretty early in the morning. He could see the light that was coming in from the windows. He must have fallen asleep, now he's awake, everything is back to aching. When he doesn't respond right away, Hobart kicks him firmly in the damaged lower ribs. He cried out, and half curled over. “Say thank you, Bill.”  
“Never!” He spat, before Hobart kicked him again, and knocked him down, before putting his foot onto the injured part of Charlie's head. He just screams. His voice breaks halfway through, and the sound stops coming. He'd already screamed himself hoarse, but it now sounded like he'd screamed past that. Hobart digs his heel in.  
“Th-Thank you...Bill.' He said, softly, but brokenly. He chokes on a mixture of saliva and blood, and Hobart takes his foot away. He then leaves Charlie on his own again, and Charlie was never more glad to see the back of him.

He thinks, as he gently touches the toast and jam on the plate, that surely Blake must be looking for him by now. His rent is due in today. He has enough, of course. So even if he didn't find him because he likes Charlie, he supposes that at least he might try if just for financial gain. It didn't seem so far off. At this point, he'd take any help anyone would give him. Lawson might be looking for him, right? Lawson likes him well enough. Maybe he's notices Charlie's absence. Maybe he's going to find him down here when he brings someone else in. Maybe he misses their vague discussions about life. He doesn't eat what he was given. His fingers flash white hot when he moves them. The broken porcelain had cut his good hand when it smashed. He wants to cry, but he knows better. He has countless broken ribs and crying would probably do him more harm them good.

That doesn't change the feeling, however.

…

“What's Munro done to him?” Blake asked, as they drove down Mycroft Avenue.   
“I don't know. But they won't let me in the cells. And it doesn't take a genius to know what a blood stained hammer might have been used for.”  
“How do you know it was Charlie?”  
“Barbara told me.”  
“Ah.'”  
“I asked Munro where he was. He said in the cells. I asked why. He said charges of sexual harassment and breach of the peace.”  
“Charlie?”  
“Hm.”  
“How is he going to cover this?”  
“It's a game of police politics. I imagine he has a team of some kind to cover this whole thing up.”  
“And Charlie's just collateral.”  
“Hm.”  
“He told me. He told me Munro said that my friends are my weakness.”  
“He's right.”  
“I didn't expect him to hurt anyone. Especially not Charlie.”  
“Why not Charlie?”  
“He's always been pretty nice to him. Offered him a transfer back to Melbourne.”  
“I know.”  
“He didn't take it.”  
“He was helping me.”  
“I know. You could have told me that before I threatened and insulted him.”  
“He's a strong lad.”  
“I agree. But he's not super human.”  
“Which is why we need to make sure he's okay.”  
“You know he's not.'  
“Mm.”  
“Police politics.'  
“Hm.”  
…  
They arrive and walk in, feet click, Lawson glares at anyone who even looks at him. Munro stops them in the hallway.  
“Ah! Doctor. I have an interview I'd like you to sit in on.”  
“With Charlie?”  
“Mm.” He looks at Lawson, who nods.  
“Fine.”  
Munro lead him upstairs, and sat him at the interview table. He looks up, just in time to see Hobart dragging the hardly awake Charlie down the hall and into the room. Blake was expecting something bad, but Charlie looked more like the men he saw in the war then he did the men he saw in Ballarat. Between the blood and bruises, he could see splotches of white skin, but there seemed to be more bruise then not. His face was a mess, he clearly had an orbital blowout fracture, and the other eye was swollen nearly shut, purple and angry. His hair looked to be matted to his forehead with dried blood, his nose was broken, and that was just his face.  
“Jesus Christ.” He said. Charlie's eyes both went right to him. “What have you done to him?”  
“I didn't do anything. Sergeant Davis here resisted arrest.  
“Of course. He broke his own skull, I imagine.” Munro shrugged. Charlie has put his head down on the table, unable to keep it up himself. Hobart doesn't say anything, just stands by the door. “Now. Interview time.”  
“Davis. Yesterday at lunch-”  
“Stop.”  
“Pardon me?”  
“Stop with the games. You know as well as I do that's not why Charlie's here.”  
“Do I?”  
“What do you want?”  
“I thought you would have known by now, Doctor.”  
“My resignation?”  
“Always so bloody smart, Doctor Blake.” Munro said. “Take him back to the cells.” He told Hobart. When he realized he wasn't going home with the doctor, Charlie seemed to panic.   
“No!” He said, with as much force as he could muster. He tried to reach out and grab at the doctor, and it broke Blake's heart that he couldn't take Charlie with him. “No please!” He shouted, as Hobart dragged him back down to the cells.  
Blake watched Charlie as he was lead away with teary eyes. He looked at Munro for a moment.  
“He's an example.”  
“Of what?”  
“Listen to me or I'll do this to you. What kind of police man are you?” He demanded, before standing. “And I wonder what Charlie's dad would think of you now.” He spat, before stalking out. He wants to break Munro's face, but he knows that it wouldn't do Charlie any good.

Lawson is sitting at Charlie's desk when he comes out. Blake sits down across from him, and they both stare at one another for a moment. “They paraded him through here, like some kind of sideshow.”  
“He's a warning.”  
“I know.” They both sit for a long time, each man in his own private bubble, trying to figure out what to do to save Charlie.

….

The day passes and they have no idea. Hobart shut down their requests to visit him, and they avoided Munro like the black death. Lawson comes home with him that night.

…

“You have to let me go, in three hours.” Charlie said, from the bottom of the cell. Hobart dropped the plate with what he called 'dinner' on it near him.   
“As if.” Charlie looked up at him for a long time.  
“Munro's not on your side.” He mumbled.  
“Shut up, Davis” Hobart said, before closing the cell. He left, only to return with the hammer. Charlie's face paled because there was no way this could end well. Hobart came back in. As Charlie tried to curl himself up, Hobart grabbed his ankle and looked at his leg, before bringing it down time and time again on his knee. Charlie doesn't even have the energy to scream anymore.

…

The next morning, Charlie is released. Lawson stands by the cell doors until he's let in. It takes a long time for Munro to let him out. He takes the lock off the cell, and Lawson rushes in, grabbing Charlie into his arms, while Blake waited by the door. He couldn't carry Charlie, while Lawson could. Munro says nothing, but holds his hand out. Blake sets his resignation in it, careful to make sure that Charlie can't see. He just groans as Lawson picks him up and carries him out towards Blake's car. He puts his head on Lawson's chest as they sit. He holds the injured arm close to his chest, and Lawson greens slightly at the sight of his fingers. Blake looks appalled. They both say nothing.

…

Charlie is aware that time has slipped beyond his grasp. He has wrapped himself in the blanket off the bed, and moved himself into a corner. He is also aware that he just dreamed of being rescued. And he aches for it. It had felt so real. He could have heard Lawson's heartbeat. Felt the arms around him. He has no idea how much time has passed since he was last awake. He doesn't investigate the food. He stays small and still and quiet. The door to the hallway creaks open. He pulls his blanket over his head with his good arm, hoping this time to avoid confrontation. Just do as they say, stay alive. He was already crippled but if he was alive…. If he was alive then Blake could save him. He no longer cares that he doesn't fit in. It's past him to care that there's a shadow of good manners involved with them. He knows that Blake is a good doctor. Fix him up right smart.

The figure sits on the bed and looks down at him. It's Munro. Charlie can see his Masons signet ring on his finger, and he can see the wedding band on his other hand and he hopes that Munro's wife isn't treated like this. “Charlie.” He said, and it sounds cold. Like ice. It sounds bitter. Like the crackling of ice after pouring something on them.  
“You know, that it's not about you, don't you?” He doesn't reply. Munro doesn't say anything about it, not at first. “It's just police politics.” And Charlie doesn't have the energy to think up a witty reply. “And for what it's worth, I didn't mean for Hobart to go so far.” He didn't say he was sorry. Charlie didn't reply still. “You really were a good officer, Charlie. Just fell In with the wrong crowd.” He wants to shout and scream and kick and cry but he doesn't. He just glares at Munro from under his now blood stained sheet. Munro stands, and Charlie pulls his sheet closer around him.   
“My father would be so disappointed in you.” He whispered. Munro whipped around.   
“You didn't know him.” Munro said, walking back up to him.  
“I've heard about him every day of my life.”  
“You didn't know him.”  
“How would he feel, if he knew what you'd done to his-” He doesn't finish because Munro had him by the throat, and had him pinned up against the wall.  
“You didn't know anything about your father. You're a child.” Charlie chokes on the air, and splutters blood. It escapes the left side of his mouth. Munro drags him up, and slams him against the wall. The lack of oxygen combined with the slam tinged the outside of Charlie's vision with black. It didn't take long for him to lose it all together. He doesn't care. He even longs for the silence of the darkness.

…

“If you aren't going to charge him, then let it go.”  
“No.”  
“Why not?”  
“Because you're still here.”  
“You're breaking the law.”  
“No one will know.” Lawson struggles to keep himself under control.  
“Have some decency, Munro. He's a kid.” He said, through clenched teeth.  
“He's twenty six.”  
“He has visitation rights.” Munro seems to consider this.   
“Blake can visit him for ten minutes. And if you want to see him again, I best have that resignation.” Munro says, before walking in the direction of the cells. Blake looks at Lawson one last time, then follows after him.

…

The first thing he can smell is blood. The cell looks empty. Munro unlocks it, and lets him in. “I'll be counting.” He said. Blake steps inside, and looks around. In the left corner of the room he can see a dirty, but still white sheet. He walks slowly, and crouches in front of it. He gently pulls it back, revealing Charlie's shattered face. He gasps softly. Charlie's 'good' eye looks up at him, and starts to tear up. Blake knows that right now there's nothing he can do. So he sits next to him, and gently pulls Charlie so he's resting against him. Charlie shuts his eyes again.  
“What hurts most?” He asked softly.  
“Hands.” He whispered. Blake gently took a look at his good hand, before moving onto the ruined one. The swelling had gone down marginally. “They're going to mend like that, aren't they?” He murmured.  
“Maybe.” Blake replied, trying not to jostle it too much. Even gently touching the hand, Charlie whimpers softly. He can't stand the noises. He puts the hand back in Charlie's lap.”What did they do?”  
“Used a typewriter...From the interview room.” Blake nodded, and gently ran his fingers over Charlie's bloody hair. “I noticed you had a head injury. How's your sight?”  
“Everything's blurry...Can't move left one all the way 'round.” Blake nodded. Charlie shifted suddenly, and Blake wanted to say something, but Charlie only moved closer, and put his head on Blake's chest. Blake carefully put an arm over him.  
“I'm so sorry.” He whispered. Charlie shut his eyes, and a tear streaked down his dirty face. It's only then when Blake notices Charlie's ruined knee. He gasps softly, and puts a hand on the back of Charlie's head as Charlie clutched his good hand in his shirt. “Oh Charlie.” He murmured.   
“I am sorry.” Munro stares at them, and Blake looks up with murder in his eyes. He's felt angry, sure. But the last time he felt this kind of anger was in a war zone. Innocent people killed for nothing. Charlie reminded him strongly of that, but it seemed that even Ballarat had wars. And casualties. He decides that he'll go to hell before he lets Charlie become one of them.  
“I won't be able to help you anymore.” he murmured.   
“It's okay.” Blake assured him, turning his attention back to the one who deserved it.   
“I tried my best.”  
“I know you did.”  
“All I ever wanted to do...Was help people.'  
'I know.”  
“I was going to be the youngest superintendent in Australia.”  
“Yes. You would have been.”  
“And you would have been...So proud...Of me.”  
“I'm already proud of you, Charlie.”  
“Are you really?” Blake nodded. He was proud of Charlie. He was very proud that he'd made it this far. That he'd helped Lawson escape with his job. “Even if I didn't tell you...That they were taking your letters?”  
“Even so.” Blake promised him.  
“Am I going to die here?”  
“No. You won't.”  
“You won't resign, will you?”  
“Why not?”  
“He'd win.”  
“As long as you're still alive, it doesn't matter where I work, Charlie.” Charlie looked distantly towards the clock with unseeing and glassed over eyes.   
“All I ever wanted to do...Was help people.”Blake nodded, and pulled him close for a long moment. Charlie was probably in pain but at least he could find some peace. Even if just temporarily.  
“We'll figure something out, Charlie. I promise.” He's not sure if Charlie noticed or not, but Munro told him time was up. Charlie tried his best to hang on, but Blake had to pull him off. “I'll get you out of here.' He murmured, and gently put his hands back in his lap.

…

“How is he?” Mattie asked, from across the table.  
“Out of it. Tired. Sick.”   
“Ah.”  
“Sorry, Mattie. I just...Don't know what to do. Munro wants me to resign.”  
“And you're considering not?”  
“I know, it sounds terrible.”  
“It is terrible.”  
“I know. I'm halfway through typing it up.”  
“And then Munro'll let him out?”  
“We can only hope.” Blake said, as his dinner remained untouched.  
“He's going to the hospital, right?”   
“Yes, of course.”  
“I'll look after him.”  
“Thank you, Mattie.” Blake nodded. “I'm just so worried about him.”  
“I know.” She said, softly.   
“He told me that he just wanted to help people.” Mattie took a sip of her drink and nodded.  
“Doesn't surprise me.” Blake finally started to eat his dinner, and the conversation dropped off there.  
…

The next day came far to fast for Blake's liking. Although he did have his resignation ready to hand over, that didn't mean he was happy about it. He was angry that someone used his friend to get to him. He was angry that Munro and Hobart had ended Charlie's career. He was angry at all the police men in the world. Except maybe Lawson.

Lawson was more then ready to get Charlie out of here.

Handing over the resignation was silent. No one said anything but Munro smiled when he read it. Blake wanted to smash his head in with a phonebook and see how he liked it.

…

Coming into the cells, it's the first time since the interview that Lawson has seen Charlie and he feels sick to his stomach. He has no idea why anyone would do this kind of damage to another human being. He wants to break both of Munro's hands with a type writer. He unlocks the cell for Blake, who walks In slowly, since he doesn't want to startle or scare poor Charlie.  
“Charlie.” he murmured, softly, gently pulling back the makeshift hood to see his face. Charlie looks up at him, and then smiles. Blake smiles back and gently slides one arm under his knees, and the other at his lower back. He lifts up, and Charlie sobs quietly. “I know, I know.” He murmured. “There's no other way, I'm sorry.” He said, as they walked out to his car. Lawson just looks pale. Charlie doesn't fuss as they carry him. He puts his head on Blake's chest.  
“I knew that you'd come get me.” he murmured. Blake gently put him down in the backseat, and when Charlie refused to let go of his shirt he looked at Lawson, who nodded, and climbed up into the front seat to drive them to emergency.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “No. No I don't. You weren't to know about Munro. How could you have? How could I possibly hate you, when all I want to do is crawl up inside of you and stay there?” He asked softly.

“Alright Charlie. Let's have a look a those fingers.” Blake said, as he helped Charlie shift from the wheelchair and onto the couch. His knee had been ruined, and even if he could put any weight on that leg, he jut didn't have the energy to move himself around. Charlie held up his hand for Blake to see. Blake gently took it into his own and looked at the poor twisted fingers.   
“How's the movement? Coming back?” Charlie shook his head, and attempted to move his fingers at the middle joint. Only two shows any sign of movement. The nerve damage to his fingers had been too much, and they hadn't been able to do much to save them. They could have re broken them, but Blake didn't want to put him though even more pain just for aesthetic purposes. “How are they feeling. “  
“Sore. I keep trying to move them.” He murmured. Blake nodded.   
“The circulation is alright?” Charlie nodded, and Blake set the hand back in his lap. “Let's see your head.” He murmured, standing up, and unwrapping the bandage from his forehead to see his bad eye. “Look up for me?” Charlie's right eye goes up. The left moves slightly, more then the last time, but less then ideal. “Look down?” Charlie looks down. The right eye goes down. The left shifts slightly. “Well done. Follow my finger…” Charlie does his best to follow his finger, but it ends up causing more strain then Blake would have liked. “Alright. Well done.” He said, before changing the bandage with a clean one. 

It'd been eight weeks, or two months since Charlie was let out of hospital, after an extended stay there. Unsurprisingly, he'd moved in with Blake. And really, It's a good thing that Blake resigned, because there's no way he'd be able to juggle caring for Charlie with his surgery and the police station. Mrs Toohey and Mattie both helped out as much as they could, but ultimately, Charlie became Blake's responsibility. Charlie didn't have much to say about the matter. Really, Charlie didn't have much to say about anything. Charlie puts his hands in his lap and sighed softly at Blake, before looking down to his feet. “What's wrong?” He asked, softly.   
“Nothing...I just…I just don't want to be a burden anymore. That's all.” Blake put his arm around Charlie's shoulders.   
“You aren't a burden.”  
“You don't have to lie.” he murmured.   
“I'm not lying. I chose to look after you. Because you're family.” Charlie suddenly wiped at his eye.   
“You just blame yourself.”  
“Is that really how you feel?”  
“I can see it, when you look at me. You're so tired, all the time and it's my fault.” He said, under his breath. “And I'm going to be a burden for the rest of my life. God what am I going to do?' He asked. Blake wrapped his second arm around him.   
“You'll take this one day at a time. You'll get better. And when you're better, we'll think about the future.” Charlie didn't reply, he just put his face in Blake's neck while he cried bitter, ugly tears. 

…  
Lawson came to visit when he had the chance. It could be once a week, it could be three days in a row. Normally, he'd sit with him and Charlie, and attempt to pretend that Charlie didn't look dreamy when he talked about cases. Because Charlie always wanted to hear about cases. It was all he asked about. He wanted to know what was happening. But it didn't take a genius to know that he shouldn't mention Munro in front of him. He'd taken a statement at the hospital, and Charlie'd broken down into tears a number of times before Blake told him it was enough. It was heartbreaking to see someone normally so strong in such a way. But today, he had different news.   
“Charlie? I'm going to speak with Matthew in the kitchen. You can stay here.” He said, leaving Charlie in the living room, looking concerned, but still. Blake made them both tea while they sat, and eventually Lawson had to speak.   
“How is he?”  
“Probably the same since the last time you asked that.” Lawson raised his eyebrows.   
“He still can't sleep without help, still can't stand being left alone, still won't eat unless I watch over him, but he did put on a shirt with buttons this morning. He did them up himself.” And he has to stop because he feels like he's talking about a child rather then a grown man.   
“That's a step in the right direction?”  
“Yes. It is.”  
“Have you heard from Mrs Beazley?”  
“She was very concerned about him, but I convinced her to stay in Adelaide.”   
“Good. Good. And his mother?”  
“She calls every night. I think it might be the only time when he's actually happy.” Lawson nodded, and took a sip of tea.   
“And he's alright being in there by himself?”  
“As long as he knows where I am I think he'll be okay. Anyway he knows that Mattie's in her room, and Mrs Toohey's in the garden.”  
“Ah.” Blake nodded.   
“How's the you know who case coming?” He asked, softly.   
“Well...They took the book, and they took the photo. He'll be seeing the special branch next week.”  
“And Charlie?”  
“He's apparently just collateral.”  
“So a young copper's lifes been ruined and no one will do anything?”  
“Police Politics, Blake. It's controlled by people higher then me.”  
“I know, I know. It's just...Wrong.”  
“I'm not any happier about it then you are.' They sip their tea.   
…  
“How are you feeling, Charlie?” Lawson asked, sitting in the arm chair. Blake sits next to Charlie, and puts a hand on his good knee. He knows from previous visits that even though Charlie trusts him for the most part, he's totally resistant to him going anywhere near him in uniform.   
Lawson doesn't blame him.   
“Tired, mostly.” He murmured. “Achey.”  
“You're getting better, aren't you?” He asked,   
“That's what they keep telling me. Are there any interesting cases? Ave they sent you someone to replace me, yet?”  
“No, not yet. I hear a rumor that Danny's put himself forward.   
“Ah.” And that's not a good ah and Lawson regrets mentioning it. Blake gives him a dirty look.   
“Charlie, no one is replacing you here. If Danny comes back, no one is going to ask you to leave.” Charlie just stares for a moment, before looking down at his shoes.   
“Had a case last week about a missing pair of baby shoes.” Charlie smiled lightly.   
“Did you find them?”  
“Eventually.” He nodded. “Turns out that the mother's jealous sister stole them.”  
“Ah.”  
“The only interesting case, I'm afraid. Sorry Charlie.”  
“It's okay.” He mumbled, and Blake looked at him for a moment.   
“I'm going to show Matthew out. You'll be okay here? Mattie's just in her room if you need something.'   
“Okay.” He repeated as Lawson got to his feet.   
…  
“I didn't think mentioning Danny would hurt him.”  
“Did I not tell you that it wasn't wise to discuss things that may make him nervous?”  
“He asked.”  
“I know he did. Will you be coming again soon?”  
“When I can.”  
“Good. It's good for him to spend time with other people, I think.”  
“Maybe.”  
“Who's the doctor here?”  
“Good point, I suppose.”  
“Good bye, Matthew.”  
…

“I'm not a child, Mattie.” He mumbled, as Mattie helped him do up the buttons on his shirt.   
“I know you aren't. There's no shame in needing a little help, Charlie.”  
“I need more then a little help. All people ever seem to do is help me.” He said, putting his arms down.   
“Were your friends. That's what we do.” She said, moving behind the chair and pushing him back out to the living room. Charlie had been forced to move into Mrs Beazley's old room, since he could no longer get up and down the stairs. He didn't complain, he never did. He put his hands in his lap as Mattie pushed him up to the arm chair. He worked his way into it, and sat back.   
“Where is the doctor?”  
“He's seeing patients, Charlie. You know that.” She said, kindly. He did know that, but his memory seemed to have been ruined by so many blows to the head. He struggled to recall things.   
“I do.” He nodded, and put his head back on the chair.   
“He won't be too long, I promise.”   
“Okay.” He replied.   
“Are you hungry?”  
“No.”  
“Are you thirsty?”  
“No.”  
“Do you want to watch TV?”  
“No.”  
“Why do you keep doing this?” She demanded, suddenly. Charlie looked at her quizzically.   
“Shut yourself off when Lucien looks away. Hide away inside yourself.”  
“I don't...”  
“You do. You can be open with me.”  
“No I can't.”  
“Yes, yes you can!”  
“He used you. To get to me. I can't. I can't let that happen again!”  
“Nothing's going to happen!” She said, “ Lawson promised that nothing would happen again.”  
“But it could.” he whispered. “It could.” Mattie put her arms around him and he didn't reply. Just let her hold him. After a few moments. He shut his eyes and let the tears escape. Seems that all he did these days was sleep and cry.   
…  
There were two times in the day that Charlie hated more then the other moments. One was whenever he had to bathe. (It was humiliating to actually have to have someone else undress you. Even if Blake was very professional and kind it didn't really help his aching pride too much) and the other was when he went to bed at night. The fear was always there that he wouldn't see Blake again when he woke up. And the nightmares. The nightmares sometimes made his memories of the event pale because it wasn't just Hobart and Munro in his nightmares. Sometimes it was Lawson, or Mattie, but the worst ones were the ones with Blake. Those were the ones he didn't talk about because he still felt like he existed on a shaky ground here. So he naturally didn't fancy shaking the boat.   
“Ready for bed?” Blake asked, as he set the cup down in front of him on the table. Charlie offered him a tiny smile.   
“Not really.” he said, taking a sip, and setting the cup down. Whatever Blake put in it made him sleep marginally better. But it still put him on edge.   
“You seem like something's on your mind.”  
“It's nothing.”  
“Remember what I told you about in the hospital, Charlie.”  
“Yeah, yeah. Keeping secrets won't help you get better.”  
“I speak from experience.”  
“Sure.”  
“You're trying to shut me out. Why?”  
“Because it's humiliating!” He exclaimed. This was the first time since the 'event' that Charlie'd raised his voice. “How the hell do you think it feels to have someone do everything for you, when you've been independent your whole life?” He asked.   
“I know how it feels.” Charlie looked at him with wet eyes.   
“I had goals, you know. I was going to be something special.”  
“You are something special. A lot of people would have given up by now. But that's not what's on your mind.” Blake said, softly, gently setting Charlie's hand to rest the cup on the table and taking his hand between both of his.   
“I-I should hate you.” he whispered. “I feel like I should be blaming you.”  
“Do you?”  
“No. No I don't. You weren't to know about Munro. How could you have? How could I possibly hate you, when all I want to do is crawl up inside of you and stay there?” He asked softly.   
“You should hate me.” Blake agreed, after a moment, taking Charlie's other hand into his own. “But you don't. I can't explain that, or how you feel, or anything that's happened to you.” He said. “And while I'm not sure I can let you crawl inside of me, for as long as you need me to be here with you, then I will be here.” He said, softly. Charlie looked down at their hands and then nodded.   
“What if that's forever?”  
“Then forever it is.”   
“Even if I still need you to help me do up my shirt in fifty years time?”  
“Well I'd be nearly a hundred years old, but of course.” That did make Charlie smile, despite himself.   
“Thank you.”  
“Of course.” Blake replied. He was happy that Charlie's opened up with him because he was afraid that maybe he never would. He didn't seem afraid of keeping secrets, Charlie Davis.   
…  
“Do you always do that?” Charlie asked softly, opening his good eye to look at him. Blake offered him a little smile.   
“I don't know if you remember but when you first came home you always wanted me to stay with you. And you asked if I would stay while you slept. I said of course.”  
“Did I?” He asked, and he's glad for his past self because if Blake wasn't here he would likely have stayed in bed and worried about him because he couldn't not worry about him these days.   
“Hm.”  
“And you still do?”  
“Well you aren't normally awake at this time of night.”  
“You don't have to stand.” He offered, slowly shifting to the left. “You can lie with me.”  
“I wouldn't want to make you uncomfortable.”  
“Doc. You've literally bathed me and you're concerned about making me feel uncomfortable.”  
“You're a lot more reasonable at three am.” Blake said, as he lay next to Charlie on the bed, dressing gown and all. Charlie moved up and put his head on Blake's chest. After a moment, Blake put an arm over him. “You can call me by my name, you know.”  
“Don't I?”  
“You normally call me Doc or Blake.”  
“Does it upset you? Sorry if it does.”  
“No, not really. I just always thought you would call me by my first name at some point, given that I've always addressed you by yours.”  
“Hm.” He replied. “I suppose it just never occurred to me to call you Lucien. It's a nice name, though. Can't say I ever heard it before I met you.”  
“Well it's not exactly an Australian name.”  
“It's nice all the same.”  
“Are you insinuating that Charlie's not a nice name?”  
“I'm not sure.”  
“I think it's perfectly acceptable.”  
“It's short. Good for yelling.” Blake patted his back gently.   
“I'm sure. Now. Go to sleep.” Charlie smiled, but shut his eyes.   
“Thanks...Lucien.”  
…

The most grueling thing Charlie's ever had to do was physical therapy. Eventually, Blake decided that he was fit enough to start work, and he wishes that he hadn't because he just aches again. But a visit from Lawson did perk him up.   
“How are you feeling, Charlie.”  
“Okay.” he said, “Achey.” He looks at Blake when he stands, losing all interest in Lawson. Lawson isn't offended.   
“Just getting a drink, Charlie.” Blake said, and patted him on the shoulder. Charlie turns his attention back to Lawson.   
“How's the physical therapy coming along?”  
“Okay. Doc says I will probably have crutches before Christmas.” It's August but Lawson doesn't make a comment because Charlie has colour in his cheeks and excitement in his eyes and he will be damned before someone takes that away from him.   
“Ah good.” He smiled. “Well enough to go back to Melbourne?” Charlie's face pales because he doesn't want to consider it. Naturally, he wants to go home to his family, but the idea of leaving the comfort and safety of the Blake residence filled him with terror because he didn't want to go. Blake noticed his paling face and put an arm around his shoulders.   
“Charlie will be staying in Ballarat for the forseeable future.” He told Lawson, point blank because he'd be the first to admit that he'd gotten quite attached to Charlie while he'd been here.   
“Ah.” He replied. He hates to admit it but a small part of him wants Charlie to go back to Melbourne so he can have Blake back as the Police Surgeon now that he's back in charge of the station and Blake can see this in his eyes because he gives him a dirty look. He changes the subject.   
“How's the hand.”  
“It's...The same as always.” He nods. He's reached a dead end in coversation. He looks to Blake for help. He stands.   
“Charlie? Lawson and I are going to go and get some tea.” He smiled. 'You wait here.” Charlie gives him a worried look, but nods. 

In the kitchen, Blake sighed and looked at Lawson for a long time. “Was that really nessacary?” he asked finally. Lawson wasn't exactly known for being a kind or caring man, but Bake did expect slightly better of him then to make a comment about Melbourne   
“I wasn't really thinking. He just seemed...So much like his old self.” He sighed.   
“He's never going to be his old self again.”  
“I know.”  
“I understand that it was an accident but please try to be more careful.”  
“I will.” Lawson assured him as he put the kettle on. “Will he be having tea?” Blake shook his head no.   
“No. Not this late in the afternoon.”  
“You sound like his father.”  
“That's what worries me.” Blake said, as he pulled two tea cups out of the cupboard.   
“Have you heard from Jean recently?”  
“Yes. She was...Thinking about coming back to Ballarat.”  
“Really?”  
“Hm. I told her that she would always have a place here if she did decide to come back.”  
“Are you concerned about Charlie?”  
“I suppose. He knows Jean. I doubt that her being around would worry him.”  
“You getting a drink just now worried him.”  
“I know.' Blake admitted. “I worry about having to explain so many things about his life to someone else.”  
“Having Jean around again would help you, though.”  
“You're probably right, Matthew.” He agreed, as he poured hot water into the cups, and got a glass of milk for Charlie.   
“Milk?”  
“What? It's good for the bones.” Lawson shook his head as they went back into the living room. 

…

Jean does come home a few weeks later, satisfied that Ruby will be able to look after her baby. She really wasn't sure what to expect of Ballarat when she returned. She knew that things had changed (they always do) but really, she wasn't sure what she was going to do to help out. She understood that the doctor had been looking after Charlie but she really only knew the very beginning of the damage inflicted on him. She was equal parts excited and nervous to see the doctor's car pull around. Mattie was first out, running up and giving her a tight hug. “Jean!” She exclaimed, as Blake gave her a tired smile, and hugged her himself. They hug and smile and make their way to the car. 

The drive home is filled with blissful chatter. They don't mention Charlie until they pull up in the driveway of the house. “Does Charlie know I'm back?” She asked, she was aware that Charlie had been staying in her room for the moment. Blake nods.   
“Yes...He knows. He's anxious about it, but he knows.”  
“He didn't want to come?” Blake shook his head. “No, no. He just has...Terrible night vision now days, and well just terrible vision in general. And I think more then that, he didn't want to worry you.”  
“I think I'll have a hard time not being worried for him. Is there anything I should know right away?”  
“He moved into the studio...To sleep. That is.” Blake nodded, “Do your best not worry over him too much just yet. It's late. I think we should go to bed and maybe discuss it in the morning.” Blake said, sliding out of the car and holding the door for Jean. She nodded and smiled. She was happy to be home.

Charlie was in the living room, exactly where they'd left him. He was sitting with Lawson, starring off into space while Lawson read from the book in his lap. (A Catcher in the Rye, if Blake remembered correctly) Charlie's eyesight seemed to be getting steadily worse more recently. As such, he struggled with reading. Lawson shut the book and smiled at Jean. “Mrs Beazley.' He said. Charlie looked back at her and smiled weakly. Jean does her best not to stare, but Charlie's left eye seems to be almost sagging compared to he other half of his face. Charlie doesn't seem to notice. Lawson stood, “Sit, you must be tired.” Charlie nodded slightly, but seemed more focused on Blake then on her.   
“I'm fine, Charlie.” Blake said, as Jean sat next to him on the couch. Charlie kept starring at him until he sat in the arm chair. “Are you going to say something to Jean?” He asked, giving Charlie and imploring look. Charlie finally seems to be convinced that Blake is safe and looked to Jean.   
“How was your trip?”  
“Bumpy, Charlie. Thank you for asking.” Charlie nods, and covers his bad hand with the good one. Blake notes but doesn't say anything. Watching Charlie flounder for a moment, Mattie decides to step in. “Cup of tea anyone?” She asks, eyes flickering around. Blake stands up. “That would be lovely Mattie.” Lawson shook his head.   
“I'm on my way home. Good night.” He said, before turning to the door. Charlie watched him go with slightly pursed lips. Blake went to show him to the door. 

…

“You want to talk about Charlie.” Mattie said, almost a week later as she took a sip of her tea.   
“I do, yes.”  
“What's wrong?” She asked. Jean sighed.   
“It's like...There's only one person in his whole world.”  
“Yes,it is. Sometimes.”  
“Why?”  
“Because he's scared. He's never had a father figure before, so now he does have one, maybe he just doesn't want to let go. I mean...He's been though a lot. “  
“I know I'm just worried about him.”  
“We all are.”  
“He only ever wants to talk to Lucien.”  
“Yes, that's normal for him. He shuts himself away when Lucien isn't here.”  
“Why?”  
“The brain reacts to trauma in different ways. Charlie reacted by forming an attachment to the only thing he could feel moving.” Jean gave her a strange look. “They let Lucien in to see him, when he was in the cells. I suppose he just grabbed on and didn't want to let go.”  
“Will he ever let go?”  
“I doubt it. Lucien promised that he'd always be here to look after him.”  
“And...What about physically?”  
“Well...He'll never walk on that knee again. I'd be surprised if he ever moves on from crutches.”  
“He's only twenty six.”  
“Lawson said the same thing.”   
“He deserved so much better.”  
“He did, yes.” Mattie agreed, softly. She looked into the living room, to see Charlie leaning against Blake while he continued to read to him.   
“I notice that people read to him.”  
“Yeah...He took enough knocks to the head to ruin his eye sight. Thats what's wrong with his eye, if you were wondering. The bone mended incorrectly. I imagine he'll have a reconstruction one day, but he won't be well enough for any kind of surgery for a long time.”  
“And his fingers?”  
“Nerve damage. He can't use them.”  
“That's why Lucien...”  
“Cuts his food up yes.”  
“Ah.”  
…

“I've been thinking...”  
“Yes, Charlie?”  
“Should I go back to Melbourne?”  
“Is this about what Lawson was saying? You'll always have..'  
“A place here. I know, Doc. But...Surely you must get sick of my sometimes. You have your own life...But you're here with me instead of being out solving mysteries….”  
“Charlie I said before. I chose to be here with you. You're not forcing me to do anything.”  
“I sort of am. You feel like it's your fault.”  
“It is my fault. Lawson and I shouldn't have dragged you into it.”  
“No one dragged me anywhere. I did what I did because I thought it was the right thing to do.”  
“Was it?” Charlie nodded. Blake sighed softly, and pulled Charlie close to him.   
“No. I think you should stay in Ballarat because I would worry that you aren't safe up in the big city.” Charlie smiled weakly.   
“You shouldn't worry about me, Doctor.”  
“Well I do. Seems only fair compared to how much you worry about me.” Charlie sighed softly. Blake rubbed his shoulder. “Talk to me.”  
“If I left….Things could be how they were. Just you, Mattie and Mrs Beazley. You could help Lawson, and solve murders and annoy people and it would be like I was never here at all...”  
“Don't think like that.” Blake advised, unknowingly tightening his grip.   
“When I didn't come home, did you look for me?”  
“No. But I was worried. I just thought you got held up.”   
“You would have looked if it were Mattie. Or Danny.”  
“Charlie...”  
“You would have...”  
“You're right.”  
“Is that why I'm here? You blame yourself?”  
“Charlie. I feel awful knowing that you were hurting and I wasn't looking for you.”  
“I can hear you, you know! When you talk about me. I can hear it. I'm crippled, not stupid.” He said, “I'm not a child.”  
“No you aren't. Where's this coming from, Charlie?”  
“He got away with it, as well. Both of them. They ruined my life. And they got away with it.”  
“Who told you that?”  
“I'm not a fool. I know that they would never be punished. It's how the police work. I was so stupid. I thought I could make things go back to how they were.” Blake ran a hand though Charlie's ustyled hair.   
“It's okay.” He murmured, as Charlie moves restlessly.   
“I just want things to be normal again.”  
“I know.” Blake murmured, holding Charlie up close to his chest. Charlie doesn't say anything else for a long, long while. 

…

“Hello, Matthew.” Blake said as he opened the door.   
“Is Charlie well enough for a trip into town?”  
“For what?” Blake asked. Charlie wasn't really well enough to be sitting outside, but he did it anyway because wherever he went, Charlie would follow after.   
“A trip to the station.”  
“I thought you said there was nothing you could do about Munro?”  
“There's been a slight change.”  
“I don't think he really is.” Blake said, suddenly sounding a lot more protective then he had before.   
“Trust me, he'll want to see this.” Lawson said, holding up what Blake had previously thought to be a file, but was now revealed to be a phone book.   
“Lawson, what've you done?”  
“Turns out young Charlie has some powerful friends. I'm holding him on suspicion of attempted murder...And if he were to….Resist arrest….And have an accident, I doubt that anyone would look too much into it.”  
“And Hobart?”  
“I dealt with Hobart before. Honestly. I can see what he was saying about blokes resisting arrest these days.” Lawson smiled.   
“I think Charlie would love a trip into down.” Blake said, stepping back into the house.   
…  
“I don't think I'm meant t be here.” Charlie said, as Blake pulled to a stop in front of the cells.   
“Nonsense, Lawson wouldn't have invited you if you weren't meant to be here.” He smiled, and Charlie looked into the cell. He pulled on Blake's sleeve suddenly.   
“Doc.”  
“I know Charlie.” Blake said, comfortingly. Lawson reappeared with his phone book, and smiled as he opened the door to Munro's cell.   
“Munro. Pleased to see you.” Munro sat up, and Lawson smacked him in the face with the phone book. Charlie looked shocked, but not upset.   
“Didn't you say we weren't going to stoop to his level?” Charlie asked, as he watched Lawson beat Munro with the books.  
“We aren't, no. Lawson, on the other hand, well.” Blake said, as Lawson stepped out, bloodied phone book in hand.   
“He'll be right, won't he doc?” Blake looked into the cell and then nodded.   
“He'll be fine.” He smiled.   
“Good.” Lawson said, putting the book down and fixing up his hair. “How are you feeling, Charlie?”  
“A bit better now. Thanks.” Lawson smiled.   
“I'll push, if you like” he said, putting his hands on the handles of the chair, only stopping so they could carry Charlie up the stairs, before putting him back down again.   
Charlie folded his hands in his lap and smiled slightly. Lawson smiled back at him. “I fancy fish and chips.' He said, rather suddenly. “What about you two?” Charlie looked at the doctor, who gave him an encouraging smile.   
“Okay.” He agreed.   
“I'd love too, Matthew.” Blake said, as they headed out into the sunlight. He notices that Charlie is smiling as well, and he marks it down as progress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> //It is done. Whew! Another fic down, more to go, I imagine. (if you're interested: A fic where good old Charlie saves the day, the second part of Entertainment, and the next part of About Charlie Davis, featuring Munro) how exciting! As always, leave a review if you liked it, any comments questions or concerns feel free to contact me.


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